The Adventures of Evil Masterminds
by Bree Z Claire
Summary: David has always had a crush on Wes. If only his love spent more time looking at David instead of focusing on homework and tutoring and school and responsibilities...But alas, what's an evil mastermind to do? Perhaps with the help of The Bomb Brothers, Nick and Jeff, David can finally woo he beloved. Shorts compilation fic/PWP/Slash.
1. When evil masterminds try to woo

_Hello ello ello lo lo!_

_I love me some compilation of shorts. And today I bring you something new, although still very Wevid!  
_

_If it sounds a little like Merthur (from BBC Merlin) then I apologize. The idea was inspired by "**James Bond Eat Your Heart Out**" by grave-walker, which is highly recommended by the way! But you know, after "Wesley the evil overlord," it got me thinking as to what if Wevid was evil? Obviously it wouldn't work out very well...  
_

_**Language warning**: A few cusses here and there_

_Enjoy,  
_

_Bree Z Claire  
_

_**I do not own Glee or its characters.**  
_

* * *

David blew out a puff of air, watching the dust and ruins settle before his eyes.

People around him were screaming, calling out to their loved ones while police officers struggled to maintain order. He kicked at a piece of concrete and stepped back onto the curb as another fire truck whirled by and shook his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes for the seven billionth time. He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked around. All around him, sirens were buzzing and medics ran frantically trying to ensure that everyone was indeed all right and that no one had gotten buried or worse, killed. Managers were taking head counts of their employees and talking to the police.

The chaos made his escape as easy as it was the take down the building in the first place.

* * *

_**~ xXx ~**_

"Did you see it?" David beamed as he bounced into the room. It was a rhetorical question, of course, but his mother always taught him that redundancies were never something to be ashamed of because that's how all good systems worked. From human bodies to the best of supercomputers to the brightest of evil masterminds.

He'd just stepped off the spiral staircase into the basement area where his supercomputer glowed, showing the rubble and chaos he'd just witnessed in person. A weeping mother on the screen was currently talking into a news reporter's mic, clutching her daughter for dear life. David actually rolled his eyes this time, and the lack of focus caused the rubber of his sneakers to catch the polished tiled floors and send him landing flat on his face. Luckily he'd place a rather soft rug a few feet from the staircase for occasions like this. "Oww," He muttered, rubbing his nose.

David lifted himself off the floor and hobbled to his supercomputer to type out a few commands to switch the camera view to a nearby office security camera to catch a different angle instead of the diner view it had just been on. _Just to change things up, _he thought. He pressed a few more keys and muted the speakers; screaming people made his ears ring and he had enough of that already. He did all this while still rubbing his poor nose.

He sat back in his La-Z-Boy chair and twirled around; making sure everything was still in place. Of course it was; the only other person here was chained to the couch on the far wall.

Eyes glared back at him, and David frowned. "You know, my mom says that staring is rude."

"And what," the boy spat out. "Did she tell you about blowing up buildings?"

"Irrelevant."

"It is _not_ irrelevant! You just blew up a fucking bank!

David waved his hand. "It was in my way. Blocking my view of the park and such."

"You endangered thousands of lives and worst of all, you don't even care!"

"No one was even in the building, love. You saw me trigger the fire alarms not ten minutes ago from this very room before I signaled the detonation. No one got hurt. Why they're all screaming and passing out is beyond me. Normal people are so melodramatic." He rolled his eyes again.

"YOU ARE INSANE!"

"I am _not_, my mother had my tested."

They sat and glared at each other for a long while after that. David folded his arms across his chest as the boy on the couch rustled the chains binding him. To David's right, a large grandfather clock swung back and forth, soon to be striking noon. Not particularly fond of silence, David spoke first, "You never answered my question, you know."

"What question? The one about how insane you are?"

"Wes…"

"The answer is very!"

"You know, you were a lot nicer when you were tutoring me in chemistry."

"As if you needed it," Wes muttered, finally looking away. His hands were cuffed behind his back and there were chains linking the cuffs to the couch. Try as he would, he wasn't getting off the couch anytime soon without a key of some sort.

"Would you believe you were just that good a teacher?"

"I was teaching you bond enthalpies and entropies, not bomb making!"

"But isn't that all the same really?" The boy asked in genuine curiosity, looking up at the ceiling fan as he pondered the thought as if it were life's greatest mystery. He shook his head after a moment. "You still haven't answer my question."

"That's because you keep getting sidetracked…" Wes muttered again, earning him a scowl. "What question?"

This made David smile. "_Did you see it_?"

"You blowing up the bank? Yes, you gave me a front row seat on your mega-monitor screen."

"Noooo silly," David rolled his eyes, smiling. "The park behind the bank! You can see it now from the roof without that ugly bank in the way."

"…what?"

"You know," The boy gestured but Wes remained confused. "The one with the turtle pond you love so much?"

"…you blew up a bank…for a turtle pond."

"I blew up the bank for you, love!" David beamed and stuck out his chest, incredibly proud and confident that this would, indeed, woo his man.

He did not catch, therefore, Wes' shoe when the Asian kicked it off his foot and straight at David's face. What proceeded next was an earful of screaming, questionings of sanity, and too many curses for David to count as he leapt up from his chair and grabbed for the tissue box beside his too-large keyboard to stop his bleeding nose. He'd set it there after the fifth time Wes soccer-kicked his shoe at David, causing him to rush upstairs to the bathroom for tissues as he had had none downstairs. The housekeeper had not been too happy to clean up that mess.

Maybe Wes was a flowers kind of guy.

* * *

_**~ xXx ~**_

A long while later, when David was blood-free (he'd gotten blood on his shirt and decided to go take a shower in his en suite bathroom while Wes continued screaming downstairs) and Wes was all screamed out, David ventured back down the stairs and into his trusty desk chair.

Continuing their conversation as if nothing happened, he asked, "But didn't you like seeing the bank fall and have the pond rise into view? It was quite artistic of me if I do say so myself. I mean, I thought about putting fireworks in at first but since you only mentioned the turtle pond in the park yesterday and it was getting late, I thought 'Hell, there's no time for fireworks, let's just get the job done already!' and badabing badaboom-" he was cut off by a very distinct snort.

"Pfft, yeah, _loved it_." Sarcasm dripped from his voice. "Even better than the time you blew up school on a Sunday."

"I had a history test I didn't want to take."

"So you blew up the whole school?"

"Well I couldn't very call in sick now could I, Wes? Lying is wrong don't you know." David cocked his head to the side and added as an afterthought, "Unless, of course, it's reclining your body in a horizontal fashion. That type of lying is never wrong."

Wes sputtered at this. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

David pouted; he'd been asked that a lot since he'd brought Wes into his home. Why couldn't the boy just be supportive like he'd during their tutoring sessions? Granted the tutoring was just an excuse to get closer to Wes, but that was beside the point. "I skipped breakfast – big bomb plans and all make me especially peckish. So I'm a little hungry…and seeing as you're a culinary student."

"I took _one_ home economics class by _accident_!"

"And you loved it so much! The cooking part at least." He remembered one particular tutoring session when Wes was a bit more irritated than usual. It didn't take much prodding before the boy spilled everything to him.

It turned out that Wes really did love everything to do with the culinary arts, buying books, trying recipes at home, and even taking classes without his father's knowledge. It was all he wanted to do, but his father had other plans for him involving the family business. And David knew Wes had no interest in it once so ever.

Wes had a brilliant mind and a brilliant work ethic; it was what made David fall for him in the first place actually. The boy was just so wonderfully focused! Wes could tutor everything from math to physics to geography and law without pause, and David would often see him doing just that in the library around exam time when everyone wanted a piece of his help. Wes could be amazing in whatever he did, no matter whether he liked it or not. But the only moment David really saw those eyes light up was when he spoke about cooking. David almost regretted blowing up the school; Wes was supposed to be making a soufflé that Monday.

"You're needle work could use a little work though. You can't sew for shit."

"Shut up, David. I'm not cooking you any food."

"But I'm hungry!"

"Then starve!"

"But then you'll starve too." David pouted again and it was in no way cute or adorable in the least according to Wes. Not at all. "I have microwave mac 'n' cheese in the cupboard upstairs in the kitchen though if you like, but I'm sort of in the mood for a grilled cheese and ham sandwich if you don't mind...on whole wheat?"

"Why don't you make it yourself?" Wes was surprised to find no bitterness or heat behind his words.

"Remember last time?" It was when he'd first brought – not kidnapped – Wes home with him and decided to make him toast to help his guest feel more comfortable. The end result was a smoky kitchen and a burnt finger for David while Wes just wrinkled his nose disapprovingly before laughing his ass off. The maid hadn't been too happy about that either.

Wes took a deep breath before asking, "If I do this for you, will you unchain me?" He hadn't eaten dinner last night so he was pretty starved himself.

"Only if you don't run." David beamed.

"Fine."

David leapt up in pure joy, uncuffing Wes and following the boy eagerly up the stairs. "You'll love it here Wes, I know you will! I have a guest room prepared and I had the kitchen redone in stainless steel all for you! I threw out the toaster though - that toaster was evil – but I got another one and it's red and blue just like your favourite colours! I went on amazon and ebay and got you all the latest and greatest cook books I could find because I know you learn better on your own with books anyhow. They're all lined up on your own bookshelf beside the kitchen for easy access and—and—oh the Jacuzzi is _huge_ –Oh and –"

"David!" Wes stopped midway up the stairs and rubbed his temples, David bumped into him softly. They weren't even up the stairs yet. For God sakes it was barely noon!

"Yeah?"

Wes paused, shaking his head trying to ponder up a reason as to why he thought this was ever going to be a good idea. At least when he was chained up he could only hear David's ramblings downstairs, and often the supercomputer was loud enough to drown him out. Now what? "Shut up," he spoke with an exhale and proceeded up the stairs. David followed happily.

"Whatever you say Wes, whatever makes you happy because that's what I'm here for, you know. Oh, it's going to be great Wes! We don't even need to go to school anymore if you don't want to… well, it's kind of still blown up right now but we can talk about that later! Oh and you won't believe the blankets Maria picked out for us the other day. Maria's the housemaid; you'll love her! Blankets? No, duvets I think. Is that right, Wes? Duvets? Do you think we're supposed to pronounce the 'T' or is it silent like in French of something? French is kind of funny isn't it Wes, I mean, half the letters there you don't even pronounce. Funny isn't it Wes? Wes?

"Oh, and you have to meet Nick and Jeff. They're the guys you want to go to if you want something blown up. They're great; I can't wait for you to meet them! And Blaine – he's the dapper guy who spies for me – and then there's Kurt, the team's designer. They're away in Thad's house in the Bahamas right now but they said they're visiting soon. Golly gee Wes it's been really lonely in this house without you but I'm glad you're here now –

_**Bang!**_

"-OWW MY NOSE!

"Wes? Wes, open the door! Please? The house is only unlocked via voice command Wes, _my_ voice!

"…can you at least slide my grilled cheese under the door Wes? Wes?"

* * *

_What would you guys like to see next? Drop me some prompts in comments!_


	2. When evil masterminds try to renovate

_Hi-llo_

_I'm back!_

_David's doing some renovating today in preparation for the arrival of his friends. Wes is a ninja with cooking utensils in more ways than one ;) and is proving himself to be a pretty evil when he wants to be.  
_

_Enjoy,_

_Bree Z Claire_

* * *

Wes bit into his apple turnover, wincing against the bells and whistles going off in his head telling him to spit out the hot lava of fruit, cinnamon, and sugar. It was perfect though, a fluffy pastry with just the right amount of seasonings and torbinado sugar sprinkled on top. He let a hum slip from his lips and relaxed into the soft leather armchair.

Oh.

He reached out for his iPod, sitting on a nearby table, and slipped the small earbuds into his ears, turning up the music before resuming with another bite of pastry. Closing his eyes, Wes phased out the world with a deep sigh, loosing himself in the apple scented air around him.

_**~ oOo ~**_

David raised an arm to wipe his brow, frowning at the miniscule dent he'd made in his wall. He decided to discard the sledge hammer and switch to something a little more heavy duty.

It was hard work, he thought, renovating before his friends came back. He'd promised them though; new bedrooms and a sunroom facing east for Kurt. Nick and Jeff wanted underground rooms with a manhole tunnel to the nearby mountain range for explosives testing (thankfully they were bringing their own C4 this time so David didn't need to drag Wes along for another errand).

He was finished with most of the work already, making small checks here and there on his mental to-do list as he made his way through the chores, and now all that remained was their new round-table room – like King Arthur and his knights! Wes had rolled his eyes at the thought but David thought it was pure brilliance. So while the spiky haired Asian walked away, muttering about someone's sanity, David just blinked. Despite it all, he was content that he and his beloved were on speaking terms once again.

After letting Wes have free roam of the entire house and giving him a tour, David thought everything would be hunky-dory. But then Wes wanted to go outside – "I have no clothes David! I can't just go walking about stark naked." "You don't know unless you try…" "Shut up, David." — so David took him shopping only to find out all Wes wanted was to scream out and run to the police the first chance he got.

Thank goodness for tasers and tranquilizer guns.

Wes hadn't talked to him for a whole two weeks after that. He locked himself away in the East Wing with all the kitchen equipment and bamboo patio chairs – it was a couple hundred feet drop from that level so no chance of runaways there. He'd stolen David's iPod and taken it with him too, so David had to find some other way to keep entertained during hours of construction. The only good thing that came with the two-week long silent treatment was that Wes would be safely out of the way in case something blew up because David wasn't paying attention to his wiring, and when he checked the surveillance cameras, his beloved seemed to be content where he was.

There were a few downsides though, most of which pertaining to the evils of Wes hoarding all his delicious cooking. The others minor evils included sleeping arrangements.

Since the East Wing held most of the bedrooms and lounging areas, David had been forced to sleep on the couch in the basement, which wouldn't have been so bad if his supercomputer hadn't been on the fritz and kept asking him to play chess over and over again. Thankfully he'd finished all the East Wing construction –including his and Wes' master bedroom! — before being banished.

At the end of two weeks, and after a bit of groveling, Wes baked him cookies while lecturing him about the importance of space and fresh air or something. David sat there with wide eyes, shoving cookie after cookie into his mouth, nodding at the right moments and dunking his sweets into a glass of milk. He didn't exactly remember all of what Wes had told him, but the cookies sure were yummy.

He was jackhammering away when he caught a whiff of apples. Baked apples. With cinnamon. And sugar. And maybe a dash of vanilla.

"Food!" He dashed out of the room, turning back halfway to shut off the angry machine, and down the large double stairway straight to the opposite foyer. He followed his nose all the way to the third-floor kitchen and stopped short. An empty baking sheet, still warm and smelling of apple goodness, mocked him from the marble countertop. He pouted, _where was the apple goodness?_

He sniffed the air and found himself being drawn to the next room over where a number of couches surrounded a large plasma screen TV. The walls here were replaced by large windows and gave a view of rolling hills and a river in the far distance. David could just make out the tips of spiky hair that poked above an armchair facing the outside. He stalked closer, still trying to get a handle on his salivary glands that were reluctant to shut off since his mind had registered the idea of food.

He leaned over the armchair and smiled. Wes always looked so peaceful in his sleep, face free from worry and anger, and though he always thought Wes looked particularly graceful in his rage, sleeping-Wes was a whole lot quieter. He rested his head on the back of the armchair, soaking in the scent of apples and the sight of beloved.

_Okay, enough of that, it's apple time! _David took a deep breath as he snatched a pillow from a nearby couch; switching the plate of apple turnover with a pillow would require all his cunning followed by all his speed because Wes would wake up moments later in all his glorious rage. It was like outsmarting a booby trap like the ones in those Indiana Jones movies. The boy leaned down and gave the plate an experimental tug. When Wes' breathing remained steady and deep, he slowly slipped the pillow under the plate and…

…got stabbed by a fork.

"Oww! Gah! Son of a—"

"You think I'd actually fall for that again after last time? Seriously, David, and you call yourself a mastermind."

Said mastermind was currently licking his left hand. "I just wanted your apple turnover. Just a bite?"

"That's what you said before you ate my last batch. All of it!" Wes popped the rest of the dessert into his mouth and David suppressed a whimper. _The cruelty! _He felt a twinge in his heart that was just as much out of love as it was out of heartbreak. Wes really could be evil when he wanted to be. They'd already had the conversation regarding Wes' transition into David's gang of evil doers… but his beloved had cut him off at the legs before David could even finish the sentence.

Wes glared at him – a warning if David ever saw one – and the only reason he wasn't already shoving David out of the room was because he was so comfortable in his armchair. David backed away slowly before bolting from the room. He didn't stop running till he reached the safety of the West Wing. Maybe if he finished renovations like a good evil mastermind, Wes would bake him a reward.

No.

Correction:

Maybe if he was lucky, Wes wouldn't eat him alive for a) disturbing his sleep and b) attempting to take his food.

* * *

_**~ oOo ~**_

"Are you still sulking?" David jumped from where he was tucking in the last chair of the new round table; it was the center piece of the large room so of course it needed the finest chairs money could buy. Wes was standing by the door, hands on his hips.

"I am not!" Wes shot him a look. "I'm…brooding in a manly manner."

"Uh huh."

"Hamlet did it!"

"And look where that got him. A man who thinks too much and acts too late can't be of any proper use."

"That's why they call it a tragedy!"

"David, the only tragedy here is your neglect of battle wounds."

The boy walked around the table and David noticed the first-aid kit he held in his hands. He pulled up a chair and invited David to do the same as he opened the box and took out some gauze.

"It's not my fault you're vicious with utensils," David wanted to mutter, but then Wes had taken his hand and suddenly his voice was gone.

Wes worked in silence wrapping the bandage around his hand, over the back of palm and between each finger, with practiced ease. David gulped. With every touch he struggled to keep his breath calm and steady, but whenever his beloved ran a thumb over his palm, or every time his fingers grace his wrist, David felt a jolt of electricity beneath his skin. _If only you knew what you do to me…_

Wes finished up the job with a small strip of tape, tearing it with his teeth, before standing and packing up. "There."

"Um. T-thanks." David rubbed his hand, feeling an ache over the lost of warmth from the boy's touch. He looked up after a moment, hoping his cheeks didn't look as red as they felt. Wes was walking around the room, running a hand along the table as he walked towards the large towering entranceway.

"It's nice. The room, I mean."

"Yeah?" He perked up.

"Better than that interrogation room you built for Thad."

"Speaking of which, Thad said he might be bringing a guest with him."

"A _guest_ guest or a…guest-who-shall-not-be-named guest?" Wes frowned after a moment's thought. "You know what, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

David giggled. He sometimes forgot how fragile his beloved could be. Certainly after some time with the boys he'd get a better handle on things. He made another mental note to ask Nick and Jeff to bring Wes along with them on one of their demolitions and maybe have Kurt bring him shopping next time. Kurt always had a knack for the black market anyways and could probably handle Wes better than David could…probably with more grace too (i.e. no tasers or tranquilizers needed).

"But you like the room?" He knew Wes would be impressed by his wicked awesome table-making skills. He knew it!

"Yeah, sure, it reminds me of those conference rooms my dad use to bring me to, said it'd be good practice for when I take over the company." He gazed up at the large dome-like skylight and down around the room where lanterns hung from the walls, their warm glow relaxed him. "Do the walls have to be black?"

"It's the Evil Round Table, Wes, of course it does!"

"Wouldn't a nice maroon match the table better?"

David gasped, "_Wes_, evil masterminds do not concern themselves with colour confidential room designs, it's all about –"

"The evilness of your deeds and the cruelty of the octanitrocubane when it goes boom," Wes droned. "Blah blah blah. Honestly David, why can't you be more normal and rob a bank or something?"

"Do you want to go a bank? If it'll make you happy we can go right now!" David bounced on his heels, already out of the door.

"Wait! No! D-David, I didn't actually mean—"

* * *

_**~ oOo ~**_

David was already tumbling down the grand stairway; pulling on gloves that Wes always thought came out of nowhere ("One must always be wary of leaving fingerprints, Wes."). He ran after him, taking the steps two at a time as he yelled out, "David!" He followed him into the garage which was, just like other every room in the mansion, enormous.

"Banking hours are closed right now which makes everything so much easier." David was already leaping into the car; he'd built it himself, Wes had found out one day when he was exploring. It had all the fancy gadgets of the Batmobile with all the subtlety of James bond's Aston Martin. "But banks are child's play anyways so it won't take long, plus we can pick up some take-out afterwards. I'm kinda feeling Thai tonight, what about you?"

Wes skidding to a stop, planting himself squarely in the way of the death machine, "David, you blew up the bank already!"

"Oh," the boy fiddled with his keys. "Well, there are always other banks around. C'mon get it!"

"What? No!"

"Well…okay…just wait here then, I'll be back after a few errands."

"Do I look like I was born yesterday, David? You and I both know you're up to no good when you talk about 'running errands'."

Last time Wes had woken up in the middle of the night to find the boy gearing up his motorcycle. He'd told Wes to go back to sleep, saying he was going out to run a few errands and Wes complied only because it was two in the morning and his brain had punched out after midnight.

Later that afternoon, Wes flipped on the TV to find out that not only had a half dozen tanks been commandeered under the US military's noses, but their passengers were taking a rather thrilling joyride straight towards the White House! Wes on the phone in a blink, dialing David's cell to find out just where the hell he'd gone, and receive a very cheeky reply:

"_I took a road trip with a couple friends; do you want me to pick up some milk on the way back?"_

"_David, what are you doing?"_

"_You'll have to be a bit more specific, love."_

"_Are you driving down New York Avenue in a stolen US military vehicle currently on route to the White House?" He shrieked._

"…_maybe."_

"_Get. Your. Ass. Back. Home!"_

"_But I haven't driven a tank in a whole year, Wes!" The boy wailed. "A whole year! How often do you get a drive a tank down the road to visit the President?"_

"_I'm going to drive a tank over _you_ if you don't get back here this instant!" _

"_Spoil sport…"_

The tanks had turned around after that –thank heavens— and Wes had to grip a nearby chair for balance to keep from passing out. David came back the next day looking quite sullen but Wes didn't give a tiny rat's ass. He sat the boy down and let all hell run loose. David looked a bit pale face afterwards, but promised not to do anything like that again until running things by Wes first. Wes baked him cheesecake after that, hoping the sugar crash would be enough to keep the destructive teen homebound for the next while.

David was pouting at him now. "Do not."

"Get back inside."

"But I've been stuck inside all day doing renovations!" He threw up his arms, "I deserve a reward don't I?"

Wes frowned; letting David out in the world in his destructo-moblie was never a good idea. _Think, Wes, think…_

"That's right, David." He stood up straight and walked around the car, gliding his hand along the smooth metal with a smirk. He knew David was watching him as he walked past the car and back inside, leaning against the doorframe. He made sure to keep his voice sweet and sultry when he spoke again, "You've been working so hard all day. Surely you must be exhausted."

"Well…"

"Why don't you come inside and I'll draw you up a nice relaxing bath?" David's eyes widened and Wes could practically hear the gears turning. He kept going, making sure to put the emphasis on the right words. "We could sit by the TV afterwards…together…order some delivery and watch a few movies…together…and maybe you could show the new master bedroom after that? You made that room just for us didn't you?"

David was out the car and up three flights of stairs in two seconds flat.

* * *

_**~ oOo ~**_

* * *

_**And THAT, my darlings, is how you tame an evil mastermind.**_

_**Prompts are welcome :)  
**_


	3. When evil masterminds try to interrogate

_Hello beautiful people,_

_There's love in my heart and endless hugs to give every time I remember how loyal and loving you all are for putting up with me and my inconsistent updating!  
_

_Enjoy,_

_Bree Z Claire_

* * *

David lowered the light, twisting it around so the beam aimed right between the man's eyes. And he knew full well how hot it was –he'd designed it so there was a small, laser-like beam of heat made noticeable only when it hit someone dead on and had suffered multiple burns during the construction of said device—so he wasn't surprised when he saw the beads of sweat trickling down the man's temples within seconds. He circled around his prey tied down to a plastic chair with zip ties tearing into flesh of the wrists, making sure his shoes ghosted along the cement but made a definite, echoing _click click_ every now and then.

There was a second body as well. If you could call it that. A figure lay crumpled in the corner of the room, limp and disfigured and broken, slumped lazily against the wall smeared with red. It didn't matter that the body laid next to the door; it wasn't as if it was going anywhere soon. Not with its tibia sprouting through the skin like a bamboo shoot of bone and blood.

David picked up his crowbar from the table and wiped it off.

"You're not doing yourself any favours, you know." David kicked the chair halfway up, tilting it so he could look into those green eyes. Despite the beads of sweat, the man remained cool, calm, and collected as if being beaten and tied to a chair was an everyday occurrence to him. David growled, "Now tell me what I want to know."

The bastard smirked, "Like I said before: I don't know anything." David let the chair fall, unsatisfied with the strangled grunt that came when the man fell back into the cement and most likely didn't break any bones by falling on his hands.

_Damn_.

He'd been at this for three days now, and wasn't three supposed to be the charm? Three days of questionings, torturing, and starvation. And still nothing. David scowled as he hung the crowbar on a nearby hook and resisted the urge to pace. He grabbed a picana from its place on the wall, flicking on a few switches on the control box. The device hummed to life.

Interrogations were hard, David thought for the fiftieth time. He never did have a knack for them the way Thad and Kurt did, nor did he have the twisted, playfulness in gore that Nick and Jeff possessed—imagine planting nanobombs throughout a human's body and setting them off one by one. Fireworks. That's what those two called it. But David had no such talents, so he was left to the crowbars and zip ties and brass knuckles—God did he hate brass knuckles.

David flipped the chair back up, making sure the man had the crumpled body in his line of sight, before circling back around.

"There're fifty goddamn states in this country. Nine million, eight hundred twenty-seven thousand square kilometers, and you decide to arrange one big game of hide and seek with one tiny microchip as the grand prize."

"'Thought it'd be fun," the man answer cockily.

"I'm sure," David scoffed. He lifted the picana gently, ghosting it over skin but not touching until his victim squirmed. The high voltage, low current little tool was painful enough, though with a little tweaking here and there even more wonders could be made. He smiled then, and, tilting his head to the side, asked ever so innocently with a sugar-sweet voice that would've made Kurt proud, "There are other ways to have fun, you know. Would you like me to show you?"

The man's green eyes didn't look so calm anymore as David raised the prod just under the man's jaw.

"David?"

David froze; the bronze tip of the tool mere inches from the man's sweating skin. His eyes seemed to split attention to both the door and the figure in front of him, and how that was possible David had no idea. But, he supposed, whenever it came to a certain factor, things were never quite as logical as they should be.

_Shit._

He whipped his body around and felt instantaneous relief to see the door still closed. A glance behind him revealed his prisoner, though still tied down and sweaty, wearing a smirky meerkat face. The only thing keeping David from groaning in frustration was the fact that the victim seemed to be panting in relief. Said jailbird was currently gazing at him, leaned back as if the two of them were just relaxing in the living room upstairs and David was not about to introduce him with a world of pain or imagining what mess would result out of cracking his head open with a metal bar. David narrows his eyes, warning the man to keep silent as another knock sounded from behind the door.

"David?"

David bit his lip with a strangled, "Yes?" and because he knew Wes isn't stupid, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. Very rarely did David ever speak so curtly, especially to his beloved. Ever so slowly, over the passing months of living together in the same large mansion, he could see the change in Wes' eyes whenever David answered with a "Yes, love?" or "No, love" whenever they spoke and what's more is that he could see the slight softening in Wes' eyes when his beloved shyly hid the smile that threatened to blossom out.

David loved Wes more than anything, but right now…

"I'm making dinner," Wes asked slowly. "What do you want tonight?"

"Nothing. Just make –whatever."

"Nothing? David, are you okay in there? You always want something."

"I'm fine! Just—come back later!" David flailed, pointedly ignoring the snickering hostage behind him. He started thinking whether or not he remembered to lock the door, praying that the unmoving body was enough obstruction to block it from being opened. But because he knows Wes isn't stupid, and because he knows the universe lives to smite him, David knows he's just signed his own death warrant by means of hoping those things wouldn't happen. Wes opened the door.

Only to stop dead when he peered around to see what was keeping it from opening all the way.

"Oh," he breathed.

There were multiple reasons why David never showed Wes the negative stories of the estate. Starting from the wrong elevator or staircase in the house could lead to disastrous consequences and means to an early end if one wasn't careful of where they stepped. The labyrinth-like passageways were used to trap "guests" who had happened to break out of their respective rooms. Blaine, Thad, and David had spent years circling around, planting traps and gasses and darts and wires and various other pointy things, creating the underworld, and not many had the ability to tour the entirety of the grand estate and know exactly where there were going at all times. It was the reason why Nick and Jeff, for all their expertise with wiring, exploding gels, and brilliant bomb making, could never travel below the ground floor without help.

Thad, being the man of multiple blueprints –honestly. Blueprints littered the Harwood family archive from banks to the White house— designed each floor and even had his room planted dead center of all five negative stories. David had once asked why, regretting the answer the moment it left his lips. He made a mental note to never leave Wes and Thad alone because if anyone's sanity was ever to be questioned, it was Thad's.

The basement levels were dark and dreary and a slight misstep could still catch even David off guard if he wasn't alert enough. The rooms were either reserved for supplies –weapons, gasses, poison, hot air balloons—or hostages –there were still a few here and there leftover from Thad's last visit whose screams still filled the darkest of corners. So, frankly speaking, David would've like to never see Wes anywhere near the depths of the mansion, tip-toeing around, exposed in the dark to Lord knows what.

It was also cold. And David would've kick himself into eternity for letting his beloved catch a cold touring the hollow corridors.

"Wes," David hissed, completely flabbergasted. "What are you doing here?" _How did you even get down here, _was what he really wanted to ask.

"You told me there were more herbs in the pantry." His voice was sulking, as if caught between sarcasm and shock that there was a dead body not a foot away from him. Wes' eyebrows perked up into twin arches and, finally managing to turn away from the scene of cracked bones and bloodstains, turned to face David. "David, please tell me the pantry isn't in here."

David bit almost dropped the prod, feeling the heavy pull to run and envelope Wes into his arms and hug away all the puppy eyes and paled-face look and make everything all better. But he couldn't. Instead, he kissed the air with his words, "It's in the other basement, love. I can show you there if you need."

"No no, you're obviously busy doing…stuff." Wes closed the door an inch, causing a finger to be dragged along under the door where it had gotten caught. "I'll just make some sandwiches for tonight, yeah? Nothing too complicated."

"Sounds amazing," David beamed. His tummy was beginning to make the rumblies.

"It'll be a few minutes…" Wes seemed to find a good medium to look at, and began to gain footing by fixing his eyes somewhere between David's left ear lobe and the happy place in the back of his mind. David smiled, finding it funny how easily Wes could gut a fish yet fidget in the presence of a little blood and torture.

"I'll be up soon, then," David said softly, and Wes nodded, inching the door closed—

Someone cleared their throat too loudly, and Wes looked past David at the living body tied to the chair, sandy-blond hair coifed up and eyes shining an electric green despite his haggard face. David glared back at the figure who seemed to have had a sudden turn for the better.

"Could I get in on that, possibly? I'm starved."

Wes seemed lost for a moment, managing and quick "Um, yeah, okay. Sure," Before closing the door with an _I-was-never-here_ click.

David brought up the prod, whipping the metal against the man's face. The glorified cattle prod was lethal enough as a baton, heavy in his hand but in a comforting way, and David knew to a T how much strength was needed to break a bone or dislodge a few teeth. He did neither with his strike, only just barely holding back because he did not like the way his prisoner was looking at his beloved. Not. One. Bit.

"_You_ are not eating," he spoke distractedly, turning the dial on the control box here and there with agitated clicks because how dare this bastard ask Wes for food. Only David could ask Wes for food. Wes' food was heavenly, golden, and deliciously delicious and seasons with mouth-watering awesome sauce and David would sooner spend a day in the piranha lagoon than let some smug bastard anywhere near Wes' cuisine of perfection. Only angels were worthy of Wes' food – angels and evil masterminds, of course.

"You're going to kill me anyways."

David narrowed his eyes, raising the device in an en guard position. He kicked the chair over in a sudden haste, stomping down with his boot on the man's ribs and loving the gutted grunt and silent snapping of bone. He dangled the bronze point over his victim's eye, holding the handle loosely between his thumb and middle finger and let the buzz of electricity sing into the room. "You'll be wishing for death when I'm done with you."

David moved his other foot over the man's throat, keeping the squirming to a minimum.

"You think I'm going to tell you everything just because you give me a little shock?" The man spat out angrily, choking under the weight of David's heel.

"No, Sebastian," David sneered. He loosened his grip on the handle and let it slide. "I _know_ you're going to tell me everything. But I'm afraid it's going to have to wait till after dinner."

He let it drop.

* * *

_**~ oOo ~**_

Wes was leaning against the kitchen island when David found him, palms pressed against the edge and breathing a little too deep for someone trying to look casual. _He's scared, _David thought as he stood by the door. The thought shook him a little and a small twirl of guilt coiled inside him.

He knew Wes was strong. He loved him for it; feared him for it. In ways David could never image, Wes was stronger than most people him credit for. Where the world would quiver and fall under David's hand, Wes would stand strong. There were times when David hated Wes for his strength, the stubborn set of his shoulders when he folded his arms in front of his chest looking every bit the impenetrable fortress David knew he could be. It was a trait rooted deep in Montgomery blood and Wes flourished in it.

But even Wes had his breaking point, and even with someone as solid and tightly woven as his beloved, David had seen this long coming. The kidnapping, the imprisonment, the attempt at escape failing miserably, all of it had just chipped the surface, working and eating away slowly until the final stone got taken away; seeing what he'd seen that night had pushed him over the edge. Now Wes was breaking before his eyes, and it was all David's fault.

"It's rude to stare," The Asian turned his head, startling David from his thoughts.

"I'm sorry."

A word. A simple, little, stupid word, overused to death in the world today to an extent beyond functionality. David loathed that word and how those who used it killed it every time they uttered it in vain. Growing up, he never apologized unless he truly regretted whatever he'd done, and he could count on his two hands how many times he'd used that word and he could count of one hand how many times he's really, truly, wholeheartedly meant it.

And boy did he mean it now.

David crossed the kitchen in three easy strides, wrapping his arms around a waist too thin for comfort –They'd gone out last week to a restaurant currently burnt down because Wes had been served raw chicken and spent the past week and a half in his own personal hell while David collected up all the flammable liquid and explosive _everything_ he could find. The restaurant formerly known as BreadstiX was now currently known as a massive crater in the state of Ohio.

He dipped his head onto the shorter man's shoulder; he felt slightly less queasy when Wes relaxed under the pressure.

"Are you okay?"

"I know him," Wes bowed his head. David nuzzled closer. "'Met him at once of my father's company functions. He wasn't that bad at first, and of course I had to make nice because 'a foot in the door of the Smythe empire meant a foot in the door of the business world'," his voice went rough and haughty as he mimicked his father's voice, but David didn't laugh. "Half way through the night things started getting weird. He kept giving me drinks and sneaky us off to the balcony for private chats. I swear he tried to slip me something because he just kept pushing me to drink and drink. 'Tried to get me drunk or drugged or whatever before groping me under the table during my father's dinner speech," He laughed a little, bitter and short. David frowned.

"What did you do?"

"Stabbed him with my salad fork."

David sputtered to a laugh, burying himself into Wes' shoulder which was also shaking with laughter. "That's my boy."

They ate their sandwiches in peace, lounging amongst pillows, blankets, and tangled limbs in front of the wide screen. David looked over every so often, keeping an eye out for telltale signs that Wes really wasn't as okay as he said he was, but saw nothing but eased shoulders and warm brown eyes. He didn't even seem to care when David reached over to finish the second half of Wes' sub, stomach still easing into the idea of food.

David smiled.

Maybe Wes really was stronger than people gave him credit for –David included. Strength David could lean on and rely on, and definitely something they'd both need in the weeks to come. Strength they both definitely needed when, at the lovely hour of 4AM, the doorbell rung with the acoustic accompaniment of David's security alarm, distant bombs, and helicopter wings, signally the arrival of not one, not two or three or four, but five long-awaited guests.

* * *

**_Happy Halloween!_**


End file.
